


A Really Bad Night

by khek



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:22:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khek/pseuds/khek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has a really bad night. No, really!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The pillow was extremely—solid.

Blair Sandburg yawned and tried to burrow more comfortably into his pillow, but again, it resisted his efforts. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to go back to sleep. Who cared if the pillow felt more like a book, he needed his rest…

A book?

Blair's eyes popped open as he awoke with a rush of dismay. His nose was literally buried in a book. He blinked and raised his head. "Oh, shit."

The darkness surrounding him was not complete, eerie red glowed from some unknown source, allowing just enough light to see the dark shapes looming above him on all sides. Towers hovering over the scattered remains of a battle. Blair blinked again, and the looming dark shapes turned into books. Stacks and shelves and rows of books. The smaller shapes were tables and chairs, spread in an even pattern between bookshelves. And the red light? His eyes followed the light to the source of the illumination. An exit sign.

Exit sign? "Dammit," Blair said feelingly. He'd fallen asleep in the library. He hadn't done that since…well, since he'd moved into the loft with Jim. When he had lived in the warehouse, it had been a regular occurrence, but now he rarely did more than pick up his books and leave to study at home. But since the diaries he had needed to study were reference materials, home had not been an option today.

Blair picked up the book he had fallen asleep on, wincing at the small puddle of drool on the page. He used his T-shirt to wipe it off. "Aw, man." This was the last time he picked an out of the way spot to study. Obviously, the library had closed. Just as obviously, the staff check had failed to discover him. Huh. On the bright side, at least it proved he didn't snore.

Blair sighed as he packed his papers into his knapsack. He stood up, and stopped dead in his tracks. How was he going to get out of here? If he had been in the University Library, campus Security would have handled it with aplomb. But this was a small branch of the Cascade Public Library. He knew the building had a pretty advanced security system—not only were all the doors alarmed, but there were motion detectors located in various spots. If he just walked out, loud alarms would ring and a silent alarm would be sent to the Cascade PD. Uniforms would show up, and Blair had no doubt whatsoever that the story would end up circulating through the entire police department, getting wilder and wilder with each retelling. He'd end up the laughingstock of the station. No, thank you. Blair looked at the exit sign and sighed again. So much for the easy way out.

He eyed the reference material with distaste. That was a whole other problem. They were valuable original source material; irreplaceable and checked out to him for use in the building. If he left the books where he had been studying, they might be lost or stolen. If he took them home, they'd be safe but he would probably lose all his good rapport with the librarians. They'd never let him use the collection again. Maybe he could just drop the stuff off behind the Reference Desk, and come back and explain later. It would be easier, the materials would be safe and in the building, and no one would be out for his blood. Blair nodded, although no one could see it. Yes, that's what he'd do.

So now he needed a plan of action. First, drop off the material, then get out. Blair thought back. He had dated one of the library assistants a few months ago. One evening, when they had gotten a little carried away, Cindy had dared him to break into the library with her and... Well, that particular memory, though stimulating, wasn't very helpful. But the breaking in part... They had gotten in through a door with an alarm that didn't work. If he could avoid the sensors, if the door was still un-alarmed. . .

"Or I could just stay here until morning," Blair said aloud, his voice echoing in the empty room. But no…Jim would be worrying. "I could call him," he mused. Weighing the options of notifying his roommate of his plight versus having an APB put out on him, Blair still hesitated. "Don't be stupid, man," he told himself. "Maybe Jim can somehow get me out of here without telling anyone." His stomach rumbled, making his choice easier. Opening his backpack, he dug into it, pulling the cell phone out from among the notebooks, papers and other clutter. He flipped it open. No lights. His heart sank…the battery was dead.

With a sigh, he realized that it had to be the hard way. Looking up, he saw the motion detector that monitored this portion of the collection. Thanking his lucky stars that the library shelves were overcrowded, blocking the sensor, he dropped into an uncomfortable crouch and moved forward. At the last stack, he stopped and stood cautiously.

The next motion detector was mounted above the doorway, facing the center aisle where he should have been walking. Instead, Blair moved down between the stacks of books, then returned back up the opposite side, hugging the wall. "I must look like one of those lurking spies in a grade-B movie," he chuckled to himself as he walked under the oblivious sensor. The reference desk was right in front of him. He looked around for any new additions to the security system. None. He hadn't really expected any, as the library entrance was right in front of him, and a bank of windows were to the side. If motion detectors had been installed in this portion of the building, people walking up to the door or past the windows outside would set them off.

Blair dropped the Reference materials off; leaning over the counter to tuck them underneath on a shelf he knew was there. That particular mission accomplished, he eyed the front doors longingly, but he knew opening them would set off an alarm. He sighed, knowing that anyone NOT connected to the PD would do just that. Maybe...

Henri's face appeared in his mind's eye, laughing as he was dragged into Major Crimes in handcuffs by two uniforms. 'You got caught escaping from the library, Hairboy? What were you trying to do...take a novel approach to crime?' Blair shuddered. He knew he was probably making too much of it, but.... No. He would find his own, un-alarmed way out.

Instead of heading for the front doors, Blair crossed the open lobby and peered through the entrance to the periodicals area. His goal was the emergency exit on the opposite wall...across a cluttered expanse of display stands, carrels and computer workstations. After checking that his backpack was securely attached, he got on his hands and knees and then lowered himself to his belly. Slithering across the space, Blair dragged himself along by the elbows, keeping as low to the ground as possible. Even though Cindy had told him that most of the cameras were focused to register at knee-level, he made sure to keep some kind of obstacle between him and the motion detector. No reason to be stupid, after all. "How the hell do soldiers do this over rocks and mud?" he asked himself, panting with the strain of staying low. Certain muscles were not meant to be used this way.

One twitch in the wrong direction, and he whacked his knee on the sharp edge of one of the carrels. Red-hot pain shot through his entire body. Blair curled in a protective ball, forgetting all about the sensors, wrapped around the injured joint. "Ow, ow, ow..." he muttered, panting as he rubbed the pain away. "That's gonna bruise." As if that were something new. Oh well, it wasn't like he wore shorts all the time; no one would notice. Taking a deep breath, he started slithering again, in an awkward sideways motion, trying to keep the knee from touching ground.

Reaching his goal, he rolled over on his back and looked around at ceiling level. The only sensor in sight was angled so that it covered most of the area beside him, but not the door. Cautiously, he sat up; keeping his back firmly pressed against the door in question. Blair held his breath, prayed that the faulty alarm had never been replaced, and pushed the emergency bar. The door swung open with a creak...

There was no other sound. Staying low, just in case, Blair scooted backwards on his butt. Once outside, he scrambled to his feet with relief, favoring the bruised knee, watching as the door swung shut and sealed. Before, Cindy had somehow rigged it to stay unlocked in anticipation. There was no visible hardware to open it from the outside, but he inserted his fingers in the edges and tried pulling, just to make sure. Blair yelped as his finger caught on a something sharp and he instinctively yanked his hand away. There was a sharp pain as something slid deeper and snapped off.

Squinting in the low illumination Blair saw a drop of blood welling up around a thin metal sliver. About as thick as sewing needle, it stuck out just above the joint of his forefinger, clearly visible under the skin. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Gently, he grasped the top with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand and pulled. The sliver came out partway and snagged on something; the thicker piece popped out, but left a significant portion buried beneath the skin. Blair popped the finger into his mouth, hoping the extra moisture might help pull the metal out. No luck. He examined the sliver as well as he could in the dark. It was well and firmly embedded, and the skin around it was already swelling. Blair sighed. Now his finger was throbbing in counterpoint to his knee.

He needed Sentinel eyes to find the sliver and pull it out painlessly, and there was only one place to get that. Blair turned and limped towards the only car in the parking lot. His Volvo sat in a halo of light from a street lamp, promising home, warmth and safety. Blair slapped at his pockets with his good hand, feeling for his keys...

And stopped dead in his tracks, remembering with horror that he had forgotten his library card that morning. His keys were sitting somewhere in a drawer behind the reference desk. He had left his entire keyring, with keys to the Volvo, the Loft, and his office at Rainier, as collateral for use of the books.

"Dammit!" Blair cursed, feeling the need to kick something. There was a convenient trashcan only feet away, but he restrained himself, knowing that with his throbbing knee, it would be a huge mistake. He eyed the car and continued on his uneven path. Maybe one of the windows was rolled down far enough so he could get in. Then he could use a long unused skill he hadn't shared with Jim and hot-wire the stupid thing. Not an easy thing to do one handed, but possible.

Blair circled the car, pushing at the windows with determination. Not even a little crack showed, and pushing downwards with one hand was doing nothing but give him aching muscles and probably a bruise. He tried to scrabble his fingers around the top of the passenger side, pushing at the rubber, and felt a twinge as he pushed the metal splinter deeper.

Admitting defeat, he hobbled over towards the public phone attached to the side of the library building. It was time to call Jim. Blair reached for the handset, only to find a dangling wire. The phone had been vandalized; it was completely useless.

"This is just not my night," Blair said sadly, shaking his head. He looked all around him. This branch of the library was off the main drag; buses didn't run in this area after ten. It was at least a mile to the nearest bus stop, and probably almost that to the nearest phone. The loft was only a few miles away. Heaving another sigh--what felt like the fiftieth of the night--he hoisted his backpack firmly over his shoulder and started limping towards home.

The weather had definitely taken a turn for the better, in Blair's opinion. Gone were the gray clouds that had hovered for the past few days, dropping their loads of unwelcome water intermittently upon the city. The rain had stopped, but there were still puddles everywhere. Blair watched his feet, not wanting to step in the middle of one. Longingly, he thought of his warm hiking boots, sitting by the radiator in his room drying out from the last few days. He had left them behind, choosing to wear lighter, less waterproof shoes.

Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

* * *

The road was silent and dark. In the distance, Blair could hear the sound of traffic, but nothing passed within his sight. He checked the buildings around him, looking for one with a public phone, but there was nothing. He limped on.

The city lights were getting brighter when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Common sense warned on the dangers of hitchhiking, but the pain in his knee and the thought of the depressingly long walk home made Blair turn around, thumb out anyway. If the person looked like a psycho, he'd refuse the ride. If they were sympathetic and stopped maybe they would give him a lift home...or at least to the nearest telephone. Blair tried to look harmless--not difficult in his current state--and charming.

Behind high beams, the low-slung shape of a sports car approached. Blair's eyes widened as the throbbing beat of bass speakers turned up all the way hit his ears. Behind the headlights, he could make out the shapes of arms waving out the windows; shouts of excitement could be heard above the loud music. Any thoughts of a ride went out of his head as he took in the sight of the car weaving across the center line, heading straight toward him. Blair pushed himself into a shambling run, headed for the nearby protection of a recessed store entrance.

Whoops of laughter sounded as the car approached; rubber squealed as tires rubbed against the curb of the sidewalk. Blair turned, still moving backwards, to check how close death rode his heels, just in time to see the tires hit a puddle; a spray of water drenched Blair from the chest down. Drunken jeers filled the darkness as both empty and half-full bottles of beer crashed around him, sending shards of glass and liquid spatters in a dark shower across the sidewalk.

"Get a horse!" someone shouted out the window as the engine revved and the car sped away in a black cloud and a screech of rubber. One last bottle hit the pavement with a loud crash.

Blair jumped and tripped over something behind him. Arms pinwheeling madly, he fell backwards, landing with a hard thump on the concrete sidewalk. His funny bone hit the step leading into the shop. Blair gasped with the icy waves of pain that emanated from the contact, grabbing the elbow and hanging on to it. He closed his eyes and panted through the waves of white-hot agony that followed. Nausea cramped his stomach; a wave of heat swept over him from head to toe. Blair concentrated on keeping everything together and not passing out.

Momentarily stunned, his heart beating in triple time, he watched the taillights vanish into the darkness. "Arrogant adolescent assholes," he muttered. That pretty much summed it up. He rubbed his elbow, trying to massage the pain away. Most of it receded, leaving behind a prickling pins and needles numbness and lingering shudders.

Taking a deep breath, Blair pushed himself, one-armed, to his feet. Ineffectively, he swiped at his clothes. The water had soaked through his jeans completely, leaving them stiff and cold. The usual layers of clothing on his upper body had prevented some of the water getting through, but spots of dampness had already reached his bare skin beneath. A dark streak followed the path his hand had taken, and he pulled the hand towards his face, squinting at his palm in the dim light of a nearby streetlamp.

More blood, this time on his palm. He must have cut himself on one of the shards of glass. He was too tired to take it in. Dispassionately, he prodded at the cut. No glass in it, and it didn't seem too deep. It probably didn't even need stitches. Probably. At least it was on the same hand as the splinter...he would only have one hand out of commission. Glumly, he summed up his injuries: one hand, the opposite elbow and one knee. Nothing long-term, luckily.

The cut hurt though. And it was still bleeding. He really should stop the bleeding...

There was no clean fabric to work with. With a shrug, Blair pressed his palm against the one dry spot he could find on his jeans; over his hip where his coat had provided a bit of protection from the shower of dirty water. Blood soaked through the fabric, but the bleeding stopped. Didn't do much for the jeans though. Blair sniffed and made a face. The combination of blood, stale beer and oily gutter water offended his nose; he hated to think of how Jim would react.

Jim. Home. Blair looked at the litter of glass around him and shook his head. He really should do something about it, but he had nothing to work with, and he wasn't going to kneel down and pick up each shard individually. The shop owners could deal with it in the morning. He just wanted home, warmth, Jim, and a hot cup of tea. And maybe not in that order...

He checked the cut, which was no longer bleeding. Time to get going. Picking up his backpack he moved, putting one foot in front of the other automatically. His knee complained, but he ignored it. Random thoughts swirled through his mind.

It was cold.

Right, left, right, left, right...

Wet cloth chafed. It was damn uncomfortable.

One and two and one and two and...

*He* was cold. Could a person walk on automatic?

One foot, two foot...

Had he ever noticed before that three different aches throbbed in counterpoint? The elbow didn't count, it just felt numb.

One foot, two foot, red foot, blue foot...the chant went through his mind and he winced. Thinking in Dr Seuss rhymes probably wasn't a very good sign.

"Hey! Buddy!"

Blair looked up from the contemplation of his feet to the car that was moving slowly beside him. The rumbling engine sounded similar to the one he'd heard earlier that evening. "Huh?" he asked, fear pulling him out of his daze.

"You okay?" The concern on the stranger's face more than made up for Blair's lack of recognition. "You need some help?"

Blair stopped. He looked at the car, which pulled up beside him. The boy leaning out the passenger window had long hair and a nose ring, but he couldn't have been more than seventeen, the girl driving the car was in the shadows, but looked about the same age. Probably not psychos then. Ouch, it hurt to laugh.

The boy frowned. "You don't look so good. Can we give you a ride home or something?" Behind him, the girl hissed in protest. Blair couldn't catch of what she said, but it had something to do with Blair's damp and bloody state, leather seats, and Mom and Dad killing both of them for picking up a stranger. He yawned, losing track of the conversation.

"Hey, you need a ride?" the boy prompted.

Blair blinked, surprised that he was so tired. "Nah, that's okay," he said, eyeing the car with undisguised longing. "I don't want to get you in trouble or anything."

The boy shook his head. "We're in trouble already, it won't really make a difference. You just don't look like you'll make it much further."

Blair sighed. So close...and yet, he wouldn't feel right imposing. He was filthy, and they were kids. And, like they said, already in trouble. "Probably not," he agreed. "But your friend is right, I'll make a mess." He hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I don't suppose you have a phone?"

"She's not my friend, she's my sister," the boy explained with a quick eye roll. "And she forgot charge the battery, so..no phone. Part of why we're in trouble. Can't you use a pay phone though?"

"Pay phone?" Blair repeated, "Where?"

"Right there." The boy pointed, and Blair turned. In his daze, he hadn't even noticed that he'd reached his goal. Behind him, a 24-hour store spilled light into the night, bright banners promising coffee at all hours, donuts, and a working telephone.

"You have any money?" the girl asked, sounding happier now that her car wasn't going to be compromised. Blair fumbled at his pockets, his cold fingers not wanting to flex enough to reach into them. The girl passed something to the boy. He handed Blair a ten-dollar bill.

"Here you go. Keep the change--get some coffee or something. Call a cab if you can't reach your friend. Can you make it in all right?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, touched by the kindness of strangers. So different from the earlier experience.

"Okay. Want us to wait?"

"No, that's okay; sounds like you need to get home. Thanks. If you give me your address, I'll send the money back."

The boy waved him off. "Ah, don't worry about it. Help someone else some time."

Blair nodded and with a weary sigh, hobbled over towards the store entrance. Behind him, the kids waited until he was inside then pulled away.

Inside, the clerk looked at him with raised eyebrows as he staggered into a magazine stand, almost knocking it down, but said nothing. Blair filled a cup with hot chocolate, his hands shaking. What he really wanted was tea, but it would take too long. He needed something hot to warm him up right now.

"Rough night?" the clerk asked, passing him his change.

Blair grunted in agreement. "You have no idea." Picking up the styrofoam cup, he wrapped both hands around it in the hopes of absorbing some heat, and limped over to the phone booth. Fumbling with his unfeeling fingers, he dropped two coins in the slot and dialed. There was only one person he needed right now.

"Ellison," his partner answered almost before it rang. Oh yeah. Even though it was only one word, and his name at that, Blair could read the emotions behind it.

"Hey Jim," Blair said, trying to keep his voice steady. Hot chocolate be damned, the concern in that voice sent a rush of warmth throughout him, thawing his half-frozen body. "Ah, man, it's great to hear your voice. Can you come pick me up? You're never gonna believe what happened to me tonight..."

 

^*^*^*^*^*^*  
fin


	2. All Things Considered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's side of the story

The loft was dark and quiet. Jim kicked the door shut behind him and crossed to the kitchen in darkness. He frowned as he dropped the bags of Chinese take-out on the counter, and reached out to flick the light switch. A soft yellow glow lit the empty room.

"Where are you, Chief?" Jim murmured, checking the refrigerator for a note. Nothing was there; he hit the 'play' button on the answering machine. Two hang ups, one message from the university for Blair, one reminder of an upcoming dentist appointment for Jim. The key basket was empty.

The stakeout he had been working on had lasted well into the evening. He and Henri had ended up at the station for what seemed like hours, filling out the necessary paperwork after a successful bust. Blair had known his schedule, known he would be late. He might not have felt the need to leave a message.

Breaking all his own rules, Jim turned on the TV and ate Chinese straight out of the containers, sitting on the couch. It was almost time for the eleven o'clock news.

After listening to the two news anchors drone on inanely about an alleged murder (Major Crimes was already on the case) an attempted bank robbery and a movie star's most recent brush with the law, Jim gave up. He turned the television off and brought the remains of the take-out into the kitchen. As he scraped the lemon-grass chicken into a tupperware container, he checked the clock. Eleven-thirty, and still no word from Blair. Maybe he'd just forgotten? A tiny chill slunk down Ellison's spine as he considered his roommate's usual reliability.

Sandburg had only been living here a few months, but already Jim had felt the need to establish some rules. ' It's not that I'd worry,' he'd explained to his partner, 'It's just that I like to know where people are.' Blair had grinned and nodded; totally unfazed. Jim almost got the feeling that he had expected something of the sort.

Jim frowned at his reflection as he brushed his teeth. He had expected the younger man to rebel, or forget, or decide that it was ridiculous for an adult to be held accountable for his whereabouts. But after their first few weeks of working together, Blair had seemed happy to have someone care where he was. Of course, that was after Lash--until tonight, he had never failed to inform the detective when he would be home, or at least where he could be reached if he didn't come home.

Jim sighed as he slipped off his clothes and slid between the sheets clad in plaid boxers. He pulled on his sleep mask and settled in for the night.

That was the plan, anyway.

Jim sat up and punched the pillow. Sleep eluded him; he turned over, trying to find a good spot. Somehow, his comfortable mattress had turned hard; the sheet and blanket kept wrapping themselves around his body, strangling him.

He refused to believe it had anything to do with one late anthropologist.

But there was no denying that Blair still wasn't home, and he had no idea where to find him.

Tossing and turning some more, Jim finally gave up with a sound of disgust and sat up in bed. He pushed off the sleep mask and rubbed a hand over his hair. "This is ridiculous," he said aloud. "The kid probably got carried away with a new girlfriend or something." It didn't feel right though. With a sigh, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He might as well admit that he couldn't sleep, and do something about it.

He padded downstairs, not bothering with a robe, and opened the refrigerator. Glumly, he surveyed the contents. Several Tupperware containers containing unidentifiable—and probably inedible—creations by Sandburg. The leftover Chinese. Condiments and beer. With a sigh, he shut the door and crossed into the living room, where he snatched up the remote and fell onto the couch. He flicked on the TV and started channel surfing.

He ended up on an infomercial about drying food. Now, that had to be boring enough to put him to sleep.

It didn't.

It was almost a relief when the phone vibrated, it's usual preclude to an incoming call; for a sentinel, anyway. He grabbed it before the first ring sounded. "Ellison," he said, hoping that it was his partner.

It was. "Hey Jim," Blair's voice came across the line...pitched slightly higher than normal and shaking just a bit. "Ah, man, it's great to hear your voice. Can you come pick me up? You're never gonna believe what happened to me tonight..."

Jim was already on his feet. "Hang on, Chief. Where are you?"

***

It took him all of two minutes to get ready, throwing on the clothes he'd worn earlier and running out the door.

With a frown, Ellison reached over and flicked on the lights and siren, something not strictly legal. He followed Sandburg's vague description to a 24-hour store in a deserted part of downtown Cascade. Ten minutes after receiving the call, Jim Ellison was walking though the entrance to the store in search of his partner.

Blair was waiting just inside the door, shivering and clutching a flimsy cup in both hands. Jim was surprised it hadn't cracked; it had spilled over a bit. The aroma of hot chocolate surrounded him.

"Hey, Sandburg," Jim greeted his partner, going for the 'we're guys so let's not get emotional' thing. He took a closer look to survey his friend from head to toe, and some of that emotion crept into his voice. "What the hell happened to you?"

Blair was wet from the waist down; dirty water clung to his clothing with oily persistence. Rusty streaks stained one side of his jeans. Dark circles under his eyes indicated a pressing need for sleep. Jim's nostrils flared as he caught the coppery tang of blood.

Blair rolled his eyes and looked disgusted. "What didn't, man?" he said through chattering teeth. "Long story. Can we just go home now?"

"Sure, Chief," Jim said, using all his senses for a more aggressive check of the younger man's condition. Working backwards from the stains, he located the source of blood on Blair's palm. He grabbed the other man's hand and examined it. Blair sighed, but didn't pull away. The cut was small and had already stopped bleeding, so he relaxed slightly. Still... "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"NO!" Blair answered quickly. "It's superficial," he reassured his skeptical roommate with a weary smile. "I'm okay. Really," he repeated, when the taller man just raised one eyebrow and looked him over again.

"If you're sure," Jim said. He rested one hand on Blair's shoulder, listening carefully for any sign of distress. He left it there as he opened the door and guided the younger man out toward the car.

"I'm sure." Blair leaned into the touch, then turned to wave at the clerk, quietly watching from behind the cash register. "Thanks, Emilio."

The clerk, a disreputable looking man in his mid-twenties showed a gap-toothed smile. "De nada. You take care of yourself, okay? I'll tell my sister about that class."

Blair nodded and smiled. Jim just shook his head. Sandburg made friends in the oddest places.

Immediately, he noticed the limp as Blair moved past him. Quickly, he jumped forward, catching Blair's elbow to offer subtle support as they walked to the truck. Blair grunted as he was hoisted into the truck, then settled into his seat with a sigh of satisfaction. "Home, James," he commanded. Closing his eyes, a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Ellison snorted, somewhat reassured that his partner was normal. Well, as normal as Sandburg got, anyway. Blair was uncharacteristically quiet through the ride home though, and his nerves started getting twitchy again. "You sure you're okay?" he asked quietly.

Blair nodded, his eyes still shut. "Just tired." A huge yawn overtook him. Jim had to be satisfied.

Driving at the speed limit and stopping for traffic signals, it took them twenty minutes to reach home legally. Blair shook off Jim's offer of support and limped in on his own. Inside, he started peeling off and dropping pieces of wet clothing as he made his way across the living room toward the shower.

Shaking his head, Jim trailed after him, picking up the pieces. "You eat yet, Chief?" he called through the open bathroom doorway. One thing he had learned about the anthropologist almost immediately; Blair didn't really have a problem with modesty.

"No." Blair's voice was distorted by the sound of running water. Not that it made the slightest bit of difference to a sentinel. Jim listened long enough to make sure that his partner had made it into the shower with no problems. Making a face, he dumped the pile of wet clothes into the laundry basket just inside the bathroom. Since his roommate hadn't bothered to get a change of clothing, he wandered down to Sandburg's room and rummaged through the dresser, retrieving sweatpants, some thick wool socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, which he carried down the hall and deposited on the counter next to the sink.

Steam billowing from the shower reached out for him and Blair sighed in contentment. "Thanks, Jim."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jim sighed with mock irritation. "I just didn't want to be treated to the sight of you streaking to your bedroom. Hey, join me in the kitchen when you're done."

" 'kay."

The limited selection in the refrigerator hadn't changed since Jim had checked earlier. With a shrug, he pulled out the remainder of the Chinese take-out he'd brought home earlier and stuck it in the microwave, turning on the oven in passing. He pulled out two beers, thought better of it and put one back. Instead, he filled the teapot and put the water on to boil.

* * *

When Blair finally hobbled out of the bathroom, toweling still-wet hair, Jim looked up from the couch where he was watching an old movie--not waiting--and smiled. "Food's in the oven keeping warm, tea is just about..." the teakettle whistled, "done. Help yourself." Surreptitiously he watched his partner throw the damp towel over a chair, turn off the burner and pour boiling water into his favorite mug. Blair looked doubtfully from the mug to the plate waiting to be filled, and Jim used it as an excuse to get up. "Let me get that."

"Thanks," Blair said gratefully.

"Why don't you sit on the couch, Chief? It's more comfortable."

Blair's eyebrows went up. "Isn't that against house rule number six hundred and..."

"Shut up Sandburg, and sit." Ellison growled. Blair wasn't impressed; he just grinned and headed over to the living room, moving carefully so as not to spill his tea. From the kitchen, Jim watched to make sure he was settled. As soon as Sandburg was comfortable, Jim moved across the room to place a full plate on the table in front of his partner. He moved to the other end of the couch and sat, taking a sip of beer. "So eat already," he said impatiently as Blair stared at his food.

"Uh..." Blair looked awkward. "I...um...."

Jim deliberately placed the beer on the table and got up. "What is it?"

"I think I need some patching up first," Blair confessed, holding out his hand like an offering.

Jim's breath hissed out through his teeth as he looked at the ragged cut and noticed the swollen finger. "I thought you said you were okay?" he said, his angry words at odds with the gentle touch on Blair's palm.

"I did...I am," Blair protested. "I just need a...a Band-Aid or something."

"Or something," Jim muttered, retrieving the first aid kid from over the kitchen sink. Sitting back down, he took Blair's hand and spread the palm wide. "Hold that there," he commanded, pulling out an assortment of things and laying them on the table.

"Yes, sir." Blair said, rolling his eyes, but following orders.

Jim probed the cut gently. "Looks clean," he observed. "How did you get it?"

"Fell on a piece of glass." Blair explained as his palm was dabbed with a cleaning pad. At Jim's quirked eyebrow, he sighed. "All part of the long story, Jim."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ellison pointed out.

"True." Blair nodded. "Okay then, it all started when I woke up with my face smack down in the middle of a book..."

Jim slathered an anti-biotic ointment all over the reddened area, put on a couple butterfly bandages, then wrapped the whole thing in gauze, listening intently. His face was calm, but his fingers tensed as Blair recounted some of the hairier parts of his night. He made no comments though, until he pulled out tweezers.

"This might hurt a bit," he said as Blair paused to wince. Zooming his sight in to the small hole the splinter had left behind, he gently probed with the tip of a disinfected needle. Blair sighed in relief as his partner immediately found the tiny though painful sliver of metal and pulled it out from under his flesh.

"Finish your story, Chief," Jim encouraged as he started in with the ointment again.

Blair shrugged. "Not much else to it. The kids gave me some money, and I went in and called you. After I bought the hot chocolate," he added with a grimace. "I needed something to un-thaw my fingers."

"You should have just let the damn alarm ring, Sandburg. You know that, don't you? A little embarrassment isn't worth the risks you took."

Blair flushed. "Yeah, I know."

"Besides," the detective continued. "If the guys had given you a hard time, I would have kicked their asses."

"Jim, you would have been the first one laughing," Blair pointed out.

"Maybe," Ellison conceded, looking uncomfortable. "But then I would have kicked their asses." At Blair's doubtful look, he shook his head. "I would have made them leave you alone. You're my partner, Sandburg. That means..." he cleared his throat, his grip on Blair's fingers tightening, becoming almost painful. "Uh...that we're like...brothers. So I can laugh at you, but no one else can."

"Oh." Blair wet his lips, looking a bit dazed. "Brothers? Really?"

Jim looked at him sideways. "Yeah, partners. Brothers. That's the way it works." Frowning, Jim released his grip and leveled a finger at him. "But that doesn't mean you can get away with doing something stupid. In the future, remember that. Partners stick together. Call me." He wrapped the band-aide on with a flourish. "All set."

"Thanks." Blair pulled back his hand and studied it. "Good job, man."

"Yep." Packing the first aid kit, Jim motioned towards the food. "Want me to heat that up again?"

Blair shook his head, reaching out for the plate one-handed. "Nah. This is fine." Jim smiled fondly as the younger man practically inhaled the food, despite the clumsy grip he had on his utensils. Finally satisfied, Blair leaned back against the couch, his hands once again wrapped around a mug of hot liquid. Jim slid over to catch him as he suddenly listed sideways.

"Okay, Junior, that's it. Bedtime."

Blair forced his eyes open. "Wha..? Oh, sorry man." He yawned, pushing away from the chest supporting him. Give me a minute, I'll just finish cleaning up..."

"Nope. You'll just go to bed. I'll clean."

Blair blinked sleepily, yawning. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jim watched Blair shuffle towards his room. "Chief?"

Blair paused, looking back. "Yeah Jim?"

Jim shifted on the couch, feeling unusually awkward. "I'm glad everything worked out." He cleared his throat self-consciously. "And... I'm sorry you had such a bad night."

Blair studied him for a moment. "Well, man...I've got to admit, it had its moments." He looked down at his bandaged hand, his gaze reflective. "But, you know what?"

Jim looked down at the hand and back up at his partner, meeting his eyes with raised eyebrows and a one-shouldered shrug.

Blair's blinding smile lit up the room. "All things considered, it really wasn't that bad."

Words weren't needed as they contemplated each other in contented silence. Blair's sudden yawn broke the moment.

"Goodnight, Blair." Jim said softly.

"Goodnight, Jim."

Fin


End file.
